


Formal.

by ladyromanova



Series: one-word challenges [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:37:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyromanova/pseuds/ladyromanova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The charity ball was coordinated by Pepper, funded by none other than Tony (of course) (reluctantly) (of course).  An event to be friendly with the higher-ups of New York society, veiled as a humanitarian effort (which it also was; Pepper made sure that money went to the designated charity of choice).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Formal.

By the time Clint and Natasha had arrived, the ball was already in full-effect, the room filled with the chatter of ornate subjects.  It made Tasha slightly uncomfortable, but she was good at masking this, and a calm expression settled on her face.  Clint, however, was shifting around like a trapped animal.

     ”Why did I have to wear a bowtie Tony isn’t wearing a bowtie he’s not even wearing a TIE I can’t breathe Nat my blood is on YOUR hands if I suffocate to death” he fervently hissed from behind his teeth, directly into her ear.

     (Yeah, okay.  She forced him to wear a nice suit and bowtie.  He looked dashing in it, and there were really never enough occasions for him to formally suit-up.  So sue her for indulging in the image. It was only a couple of hours; he’d live.)

     She intertwined his shaky fingers with her own, and gave him a light peck on the cheek.

     ”Relax. It’s a party.”

—

     After a few hours of mindless chit-chat and a never-ending supply of succulent hors d’oeuvres, the guests slowly filed out with bellies full of caviar and gossip - soon, only the Avengers (and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents - Fury absolutely refused to wear anything other than his usual black/leather attire, although Maria looked as lovely as ever in a midnight evening gown) remained, scattered around the room in various stages of intoxication.

     Tasha’s mind was buzzing from all the champagne (it had been a long night) and she had her arms wrapped around Clint’s neck, the pair swaying in perfect synchronization to the soft music still being played.

      Clint lost the tie and jacket an hour previous, Natasha had unpinned her meticulous curled up-do (her heels were kicked off at the departure of the final guests).  Barton had drunk a lot more than Tasha had (nervous wreck at public affairs, incidentally) and Pepper had properly BEGGED him not to take off his trousers.  He gave her quite the look of contempt, but left them on after given a look from Tasha much like:

_Not now, Barton. There’s plenty of time for that LATER._

     He may or may not have imagined a wink proceeding the look.  But nevertheless, the pair  ~~stumbled~~ left early. There was a time and a place for everything.  And the dance floor was  _not_  a place for such action (well…not this time, anyway).


End file.
